


The Truth Is...

by theycallmeDernhelm (onyourleft084)



Series: and after all this time/i’m still into you [32]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale loves Crowley, Love Confessions, M/M, One-Shot, Romance and Fluff, but Crowley deflects, ineffable picnic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:28:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25126996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onyourleft084/pseuds/theycallmeDernhelm
Summary: A little ‘I love you’ goes a long way.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: and after all this time/i’m still into you [32]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1515578
Comments: 5
Kudos: 88





	The Truth Is...

Let us set the scene for an angel to finally tell a demon “I love you.”

Picture a picnic in the shade of a large oak tree at the park, romantic if only by convention. There are two glasses of wine, after all, and one bottle shared between them; there is a wicker basket full of fruit and pastries. The picnic blanket is a very specific, unique tartan, and shoes have been kicked off at the edge: a pair of tan brogues, a pair of expensive-looking snakeskin boots.

To the external eye it looks romantic. But the two gentlemen partaking of the picnic certainly didn’t intend it to be. It is a ‘just friends’ picnic, a ‘let’s-hang-out-and-celebrate-the-not-ending-of-the-world” picnic, with absolutely no romantic intention behind it.

That is, until the angel tells the demon “I love you.”

The truth is, he has for a long time now. So it can’t help but hurt when the demon laughs at him. 

“You’re joking, right?” says Crowley, a grin on his face. The grin falters when he sees that Aziraphale is not grinning back.

“I do love you, why would I joke about something like that?” This is starting to go down like a lead balloon, Aziraphale can feel it. The hope he couldn’t even admit he was holding on to vanishes, just like that, and he knows he shouldn’t expect too much, but still...

Crowley sputters. “Well, why would you be serious about something like that?”

“You don’t believe me?”

He watches Crowley laugh again, in self-preservation more than anything. “You’ve had too much wine, Angel. Sober up and you’ll get your head on straight again.”

“Don’t be absurd,” Aziraphale says, tilting his nose. “Perhaps the wine has made me a little braver, but I’m perfectly in my right mind.”

“Confused,” hacks Crowley awkwardly. “We’re still on high spirits after thwarting Armageddon. You’re still caught up in the moment, most likely. Maybe you mean something else? Well,” he says fondly, “for what it’s worth, I’m glad I didn’t lose you, too,” and he pats Aziraphale’s hand.

Aziraphale snatches his hand away. “No. No, that’s not it at all.”

Crowley, stubborn as ever, tilts his head maddeningly. “Alright then, Angel. Don’t be shy if it’s not exactly love you feel. Maybe another four-letter L word, hmm?” He raises tempting eyebrows, dark arches over his dark glasses. “Must admit I never expected it, but all you had to do was ask. Temptation is my specialty, after all.”

Aziraphale ignores the pleasant shiver of his skin at the sound of Crowley’s voice, which drops a delectable octave lower on that last sentence. “That’s— that’s! That’s entirely _not_ what I mean.”

“No?”

“No! Of course not!” Aziraphale’s pretty sure he’s breaking out into a sweat now. He tries to pull himself together, although everything else seems to be falling apart. Why is Crowley being like this? Why is he being so evasive? So difficult?

“Then you want something, is that it? You have a funny way of flattering an old friend, Aziraphale. Just tell me and we’ll put the Arrangement back on.” He pops a grape into his mouth.

“Crowley.” Aziraphale sits upright and looks him directly in the eyes, the intense blue gaze piercing even through the dark lenses. “This is getting increasingly absurd. Why won’t you take me seriously?”

The truth is, in spite of everything he’s said, that Crowley has always loved Aziraphale. As much as a demon could ever love anything and as close as a demon could come to loving. But to him, love is a one-way street, never to be reciprocated or spoken of because after all, how could an angel love a demon? Impossible.

Crowley gives him that flat, sardonic look of his, and he tells him so. “You can’t love me, Aziraphale. I’m a demon.”

“But I do. I very much do.”

And he takes Crowley’s hand.

Crowley looks up at him, like Aziraphale’s just dragged him on to steady ground after hours of balancing on an ice floe. “Oh, good Someone. You really do mean it.”

“Yes. Why wouldn’t I say something like that, if I didn’t mean it?”

(They both choose, graciously, in that moment to ignore everything Aziraphale has said before that he didn’t mean.)

“Ngh,” says Crowley uncomfortably. “What d’you want from me, then? What’m I supposed to say to that?”

The truth is, he cannot understand— he cannot believe. Demons aren’t made to be loved. They’re made to be everything else— despised, feared, lusted after, used. The truth is that Crowley has spent several lifetimes telling himself that Aziraphale cannot love him, so he might as well settle for being used.

“Quite honestly? I’m not sure,” Aziraphale says, hesitantly. “It isn’t for me to tell you what to say, although it was a dreadful shock for you to- to laugh at me, like you did. But I-I don’t want anything from you, my dear,” Aziraphale continues, his voice shaking. “I’m not saying this because I want you to say that- that you love me, too.”

“Then why would you say it in the first place? What if I don’t love you back, hmm?” Crowley challenges.

Aziraphale shrugs. “I will understand.”

“And if I want to love you, but I don’t know how?” Crowley says, uncertainly.

The angel is unshakeable. “I suppose, if you’d be willing to learn, I could show you. Can’t be too hard, after all you’re halfway there.”

“Anything I could do to, I dunno, make you stop loving me?” he says helplessly.

Aziraphale chuckles. “Afraid not. I’m an angel, remember?”

And yes, Crowley does remember. It’s not the sort of thing you forget. Is this it, then? He thinks, looking up into Aziraphale’s bright crystal eyes. Is this what they call unconditional love? Whatever Aziraphale feels for him is in spite of, or because of, and there’s nothing Crowley can do to shake it off or make him stop.

He’ll just have to live with it.

Aziraphale smiles, and takes Crowley’s face in his hands. “Look at me, my dear. All this time you’ve been the one looking after me. You came up with the best plans and you always made sure I followed through. It’s my turn now,” Aziraphale says firmly. “My turn to take care of you. And I understand if you don’t love me back, just...just believe me when I say I do. And let me look after you.” He tilts his head. “Will you let me look after you?”

The truth is that he cannot help it. Aziraphale will love, and love and love and love because that’s what he’s made to do. And he doesn’t say it to flatter, or for sex, or for favours, or to indebt Crowley with his love so that he doesn’t have to spend the rest of his existence alone; the love is Crowley’s, now, to do with as he wishes.

“Mmh,” Crowley grumbles, although it’s a good-natured grumble. “Okay, then.”

“Yes?”

“Yeah.” And instead of pulling away, Crowley puts a hand over Aziraphale’s, still cupping his cheek. “Yeah, okay Angel.”

“Wonderful.” Aziraphale smiles, and he leans back so that Crowley can sit up.

“Could you show me?” Crowley blurts out. “How to love you back? Or at least- at least tell me if I’ve been doing it right all along?”

“Yes, my dear. Of course.”

“Good,” says Crowley. “I’d hate for you to be better than me at anything.”

He hides a grin, sharp and fond and, well, loving.

The truth is something that he hasn’t quite gathered the courage to say aloud. But what the hell— they’ve been through enough in the past few days alone to keep things from each other, the most important things. Aziraphale has learned this. And the truth is, Crowley is learning too, bit by bit. He’ll start here, by putting away denial and entertaining the idea that maybe, just maybe, someone like him could be loved.

And the truth is, Aziraphale knows. Crowley can learn, and he will, and Aziraphale will show him. Love is patient, love is kind; love feeds the last berry friand to one’s best friend and fills his glass with wine and lets him lay his head in his lap. Love isn’t always an easy thing to show, and much less of an easy thing to accept, but they‘ll figure it out, won’t they? Aziraphale has faith in that.

So, picture a picnic under the shade of a large oak tree in the park. Picture an angel and a demon, although they’ll look like a couple of older gentlemen to you, lying on a tartan blanket. The demon’s head is on the angel’s lap. The angel’s fingers are in the demon’s hair. And again, the angel tells the demon “I love you.”

And the demon believes him.


End file.
